“Yes, I remember. There was a nor’easter that blew through that night. We combed the place in the morning. Couldn’t find one print in the sand. Dug up lots of turtle nests looking for whatever Billy saw, but we found nothing.”
“How about the Navy base in Jacksonville, weren’t they alerted that there was a German sub off the coast?”
“It was called in. They sent out a couple of planes and scoured the coast from near the St. Augustine lighthouse to Ponce Inlet in the south. We heard that one of them thought he spotted a U-boat, dropped some depth charges. Next day the Navy said they couldn’t find a thing.”
“Was an autopsy done on Billy Lawson?”
“You’re talking 1945. They didn’t do autopsies unless they had no damn idea how somebody died. In this case, it was obvious. He died from a gunshot wound.”
“Why did your report indicate he was shot once when a post-mortem done after the body was exhumed today revealed Billy had been shot three times?”
Ford was silent; his nostrils flared slightly, the carotid artery jumping beneath the sagging turkey neck skin. “I didn’t have much of a choice in those days.”
“What do you mean?”
“The investigation wasn’t compromised … at least I don’t believe it was.”
“How could that be true when you lied on the report?”
“War was still going on. The FBI came in and took over the investigation. They found evidence that Billy was shot with a bullet, or bullets, from a nine millimeter. Probably a German Luger.” Ford paused, his mind drifting off somewhere. Then he came back. “Because the country was at war, and because Billy had told his wife he saw the Germans and Japs diggin’ on U.S. soil, and the Japs escaping, the FBI thought it would be smart to hold their cards close to their chest. They were investigating all kinds of espionage at that time. Japs, communist groups, Russians stealing secrets … you name it.”
O’Brien said nothing, only nodding.
“I remember them telling me and the sheriff that if we let the public know that the Germans pulled a U-boat up to our shores, dropped off Japs, possible saboteurs, it could cause widespread panic. They were especially concerned because this country was in the eleventh hour of a top-secret mission to end the war. Today, I know that was the Manhattan Project, the dropping of the atomic bomb over Japan.”
“What happened to the Japanese that Billy Lawson saw that night?”
“I heard they were eventually caught and put to death in the electric chair, just like the Germans caught landing a U-boat in East Hampton, summer of forty-two.”
“So, Billy Lawson’s widow, a woman who delivered his baby six months after his death, never had closure. Never knew that her husband was killed by Germans.”
“Many a day went by that I thought about that. And I don’t feel too damn good about it. But, we were told things had to be that way because of national security. When everything had played out, we could have gone back and said we believe he was killed by Germans, but we really couldn’t prove that either. So the investigation remained open. You’ve come along to close it. I’m glad.” His voice trailed off.
“Mr. Ford, who in the FBI worked the case?”
“Can’t remember all their names. I do know it went as far up as J. Edgar Hoover. I think, by and large, he might have been calling the shots. The man who was the field agent … he was a real smart feller. Talked fast. He had his own way of doing things. I know he didn’t spend a whole hellava lot of time on the German connection.”
“Does the name Miller ring a bell?”
The old man’s eyes ignited. Even through the cloud of cataracts, a spark burned. “Yep, Robert Miller. Never particularly cared for his style. He was the one who said it was a federal case. Told us to back off and for our report to say Billy Lawson was killed from a.38 caliber bullet. Shot by a mugger.”
“Did you ever see Miller again after the war ended?”
“No, but I followed his career, best I could. Miller was on a fast track with the FBI and what was then the OSS, before they were called CIA. He was one of the agents that busted communist sympathizers. He brought down a Russian spy exchanging money for atomic secrets. They executed the Russian in a federal electric chair. I remember it because my oldest daughter was born in ‘51. And I remember the Russian’s name … on account it rhymed with Sputnik … you know, the first Russian satellite. Man’s name was Borshnik … Ivan Borshnik.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
O’Brien backed his Jeep out of Brad Ford’s driveway, stopping at the mailbox. He opened his laptop and logged online. In less than five minutes, he traced much of the public history surrounding Ivan Borshnik. He called Lauren Miles. “The name you gave me, the real name for Volkow, you said it was Borshnik, right?”
“Yes.”
“What was his father’s name?”
“I have to check the dossier.”
“In 1945, FBI agent Robert Miller was the courier between Ethan Lyons, he’s the former physicist, the one who did twenty years on espionage convictions-”
“Okay-”
“He handed off his dirty little secrets to Agent Miller who, in turn, sold some or set up a Russian spy. A guy named Ivan Borshnik.”
“What?”
“If Volkow is the son of Ivan Borshnik, he’d be in his late fifties.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the elder Borshnik was a Russian spy. Sentenced to death in 1951. If he was married or had a girlfriend, the last time they could have been together was in 1950. Factor in nine months for a pregnancy and you could have the birth of a baby. In this case, Borshnik would be the son of the only Russian to have been put to death in an American electric chair.”
“Oh my God,” Lauren said.
“Which means, our rouge weapons broker, Yuri Volkow, may be Boris Borshnik. And he’s here to avenge the death of his father. I want to know how he got here so fast to steal the HEU. If Robert Miller’s alive, could he answer that question?”
“Miller’s alive. Lives in the Olde Club Condos in New Smyrna. Although he’d retired twenty-five years ago, the official notice of his departure from the bureau was death caused by a massive heart attack. He’s one of the old timers that entered what is essentially a witness protection plan. But rather than change the ID and relocate a witness, in the case of deep cover people like Miller, a death was plausible. What crazy irony-”
“Nothing ironic about it. It’s planned, Lauren. I’m going to New Smyrna.”
“You’ll never get in to see him.”
“I’ll figure it out … maybe it’ll close more than six decades of mystery.”
“But we’ve got less than twenty-three hours before the auction, and we’d like to find Volkow, or whatever his name is, before his buyers do.”
“Call me when you get a specific address. Lauren …?”
“Yes?”
“How long has Mike Gates been with the bureau?”
“I think he’s coming up on this thirtieth year. Why?”
“See if he knew or trained under Robert Miller.”
“Sean, for Christ sakes! What are you suggesting?”
“Tell him you reached me and I had asked you if he, Gates, had worked with Miller. Try to gauge his reaction, however microscopic it might be.”
“Sean-”
“See if you can find Miller’s report of Billy Lawson’s death.” O’Brien disconnected and called Dave Collins. After he’d finished telling Dave about Yuri Volkow’s history, he said, “Maybe it’s not Hunter … maybe its Mike Gates. I’m convinced someone inside has an ear to the wall and he or she is passing the information to Yuri Volkow, Mohammed Sharif, or maybe playing them both.”
“Gates? He’s a living legend within the bureau.”
“He could be living a lie. What if Volkow, whose real name is Boris Borshnik, is Ivan Borshnik’s son? There’s your motive, Dave. And if junior recruited Mike Gates, maybe we can tie it back to Robert Miller who may have trained Gates. Take it back to what he knew and what he did from the time Billy Lawson saw the Germans and the mystery man on the beach that night. Let’s take it through the conviction of the physicist Ethan Lyons, to the execution of Ivan Borshnik in an American electric chair.”